The Shadow of Great Britain

695: Chapter 336: Red and Black_3 695: Chapter 336: Red and Black_3 Arthur leisurely exhaled a puff of smoke, “Because the guy is blind.”

Tennyson almost spat out the tea he was drinking, his deep sadness vanishing without a trace.

“Arthur, could you give me some mental preparation before you joke next time?”

Arthur shrugged, “Alfred, writing detective novels and writing poetry are not the same.

Detective novels are all about sudden strikes when least expected, not about setting the mood like poetry.”

Tennyson pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth, “Well, it looks like my talent for detective novels is even lower than for poetry.”

Arthur gently persuaded, “Alfred, someone with low talent could not have created a masterpiece like ‘Timbuktu.’ You’re not untalented, just lacking some of the experiences necessary to be an outstanding poet.

But as I just said, you are my friend, so I hope you might bury your talent and live a happy and fulfilling life, even if it ends as an ordinary person.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” Tennyson said with a smile.

“Although I know you’re complimenting me, I still appreciate it.

At least I feel much better now.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Arthur asked, “By the way, how is your academic progress at the University of London?”

“Thanks to you, it’s going smoothly,” Tennyson replied with a smile.

“The professor said, with my pace, I might finish the coursework and graduate a year early.”

“Thank God.”

Arthur mockingly made the sign of the cross over his chest, “Though I don’t know why He would favor the University of London, which has educated a bunch of atheists, at least our classical literature department can finally educate a proper poet.”

Tennyson said embarrassedly, “Isn’t that a bit unfair to Mr.

Carter?”

At this, Arthur showed a regretful expression, “Oh, Alfred, if you hadn’t reminded me, I would have completely forgotten about my best friend, he’s truly ‘Hellish’.”

Great Dumas, lying nearby with a corpse, upon hearing this, blew away the manuscript in front of him and spoke, “Not only that, but he also dragged Sir Scott who had highly praised him to Hell.”

Arthur turned his head toward Great Dumas, “Alexander, if you hadn’t spoken up, I might have thought you went there, too.”

The Frenchman simply gave Arthur the middle finger, then stood up with the manuscript, “Come on, look at this work Victor sent me from Paris.”

“Victor?” Arthur raised an eyebrow, “You mean Mr.

Hugo?”

“Oh, I almost forgot, you are his admirer.”

Great Dumas rubbed his butt, which had gone numb from reading the manuscript, “Well, that makes things easier.

Victor has discovered a new author in Paris, but his book was banned by the authorities shortly after publication, so he wrote to me asking whether the ‘British’ could help arrange for the book’s publication in London.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur’s brow furrowed.

In such sensitive times, the ‘British’ having boldly published ‘Ancestor Worship’ was already quite daring; publishing another print that could upset the authorities would certainly draw attention.

If this revealed the actual equity composition and ideological tendencies of the ‘British,’ it would be dangerous.

However, although Arthur didn’t immediately agree, he wanted to see what the book was that had Hugo so stirred up.

And when the manuscript was brought before Arthur, the first thing he saw was a line of wisdom on it.

I understand that this book will be banned in the 1830s, but I also believe that I will be understood in 1880, reprinted in 1900, read in 1935, and remembered by the world 150 years later.

— Stendhal.